by Cindy Gerard
Phoebe pushed out a humorless laugh. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Daniel couldn’t have made it any clearer. We’re friends, he and I. That’s the way he wants it.”
Ash smiled kindly. “That may be the way he wants it, but I know my friend. That is not the way it is. He is very taken with you, Phoebe. He simply hasn’t figured out yet that he’s fighting a losing battle as he tries to deny his feelings.”
She was still digesting that unlikely bit of wisdom when a tall, lovely blonde sidled up beside them and looped her arm through his.
“Ash, you handsome devil. What are you doing to this woman that’s making my poor brother clench his jaw and glare as if he’d like to cheerfully choke the life out of you?”
She kissed him on the cheek before he could respond, then turned a brilliant smile on Phoebe. “I’m Claudia, Daniel’s sister. And you would be the first woman he’s ever brought home and the only woman I’ve ever seen him look at like he wants to drag you away by your hair and have his way with you. How absolutely fascinating.”
“Claudia,” Ash addressed Daniel’s sister with an amused smile, “this is Phoebe Richards. Daniel just tried to set the two of us up.”
Claudia’s smile widened, her eyes dancing with speculation. “Better and better,” she said, clearly intrigued by her brother’s behavior. “This could be serious. Ash, darling, be a dear and go away. Ms. Richards and I have to have a serious talk.”
Phoebe watched, speechless, as the sheikh smiled. “I’m going, but not before I give Daniel a little something to think about.”
To her utter amazement, he leaned forward and kissed her, lingeringly, on the mouth.
“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Claudia said, her voice bubbling with mirth. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Daniel’s face that shade of red.”
“And, present company excluded, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a beautiful woman.” The sheikh’s gaze was locked on someone behind Phoebe’s field of vision. “Who is she?”
Claudia followed his gaze. “That’s Karen. Our guest of honor.”
Still reeling over Ashraf’s kiss and his conclusions about Daniel, Phoebe listened with half an ear as Claudia related Karen’s story.
“We’re so glad to have her as part of the family,” Claudia added. “And yes, she is beautiful.”
The sheikh had evidently tuned out, too. He was already cutting a path across the room where an impromptu receiving line had formed. Barones were lined up to give and receive hugs and kiss their new-found family member on the cheek.
Ash however, didn’t believe in such casual expressions of welcome. Claudia and Phoebe laughed when he cut the line and grasped Karen’s shoulders in his broad hands and drew her toward him. No buss on the cheek or air kisses for this man. He whispered something that surprised a shocked smile out of Karen, then he covered her mouth with his.
“I love a man who knows what he wants and goes after it,” Claudia said before turning her attention back to Phoebe. “Which brings us back to the subject of my brother, a supposedly smart man who obviously doesn’t know what he wants or, for that matter, how to get it.”
Phoebe sat in the passenger seat of Daniel’s Porsche as he drove her home from the party an hour or so later. He didn’t have much to say. Neither did she. That was understandable to her way of thinking since she’d gone from glowing to grief-stricken to amazed all in one brief night.
First she was Daniel’s date, then she wasn’t. Then she was the sheikh’s date, then she wasn’t. And finally, she was the answer to a sister’s prayer that her brother—who has an old soul, Claudia had confided with a sad shake of her head—had finally found the woman.
Not a woman. The woman.
Phoebe glanced across the dark interior at Daniel’s perfect profile as he steered the sleek car across town. Could it be possible? Could she really be the woman for Daniel Barone?
And if so, did she have what it took to, as Claudia had suggested, “Bring him to his senses, girl. And the best way to do that is to bring him to his knees.”
“Um,” had been her articulate response as yet another Barone had reduced her to monosyllabic mumblings.
“To his knees,” Claudia had repeated then smiled and spelled it out for her. “Seduce him, Phoebe. He’s got too much honor to seduce you. If I know Daniel, he’s got it in his head that he can’t love you and leave you. He just doesn’t know yet that he’s not leaving. Not this time. Do you see what I’m telling you here?”
Well, no, she didn’t see. It was all so out there, way on the other side of the realm of possibility. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea, let alone process it.
“Daniel has always been the golden boy,” Claudia had continued, reacting to Phoebe’s puzzled frown. “He was the smart twin. The handsome twin, the athletic twin. Men admire him and want to emulate him, women and dogs adore him. Life for Daniel has always been easy. Do you know what kind of pressure that puts on a man? To always be expected to be the best, do the best? And to know that his brother has lived all of his life in Daniel’s shadow?”
Fascinated, Phoebe had simply listened to Claudia talk with love and concern about Daniel.
“He once confided in me that he wished it had been Derrick who’d gotten the looks and the easy intelligence that had allowed him to breeze through everything. He feels guilty over the fact that everything has been a stroll for him and a struggle for Derrick.
“I think that’s why he cut out of here after college. He’d never admit it, but I think he has this misaligned notion that if he disappointed Mom and Dad, maybe Derrick would have his moment. And then maybe he and Derrick would grow closer. It’s always hurt him, the animosity Derrick feels for him.”
Phoebe had been stunned, heartsick, at Claudia’s revelations. And she felt selfish and immature suddenly for not seeing that Daniel of the quick smile and kind eyes had his own ghosts that haunted him.
Her ghosts may be a bit more visible—Jason for one, her abusive, alcoholic mother for another—but Daniel’s were every bit as intrusive on his life.
“I know my brother. And I know that he’s crazy about you,” Claudia had insisted then added with a laugh, “Help him. For heaven’s sake, help that poor bumbling fool.”
Phoebe was honestly starting to believe there might be something to what Claudia said.
But was she woman enough? she asked herself as they turned onto her street. Did she have it in her to seduce him, as Claudia suggested. Or was she too much of a coward to go after the man of her dreams for his sake, not hers?
If it was just for her, she didn’t think she could do it. But for Daniel, she decided she could do anything.
She could be strong for him. She could be brave for him. He didn’t need a coward in his life. He needed strength. He needed her strength, and if ever there was a time for her to test it, it was now.
She drew a deep breath, let it out. Then she made him a solemn promise. You’re going down, buddy. To your knees. And I’m just the woman to get the job done.
“What the hell?” Daniel leaned forward, squinting through the windshield as he approached her house.
Phoebe followed his gaze then gasped.
A police cruiser sat in her driveway. Another was parked at the curb. Lights flashed everywhere.
“Arthur,” she cried when Daniel pulled up behind the cruiser and she realized her front door was wide open. “Please let Arthur be all right.”
“Stay here.” Daniel opened his door.
Phoebe was already out of the car and running up her sidewalk. With a muttered oath, Daniel caught up with her, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.
“You folks have business here?” A uniformed officer blocked them from entering the house.
“I live here,” Phoebe wailed. “Arthur. I have to find Arthur!”
“Her cat,” Daniel explained.
“Big tabby?”
“Oh, God. Is he all right?”
�
�He’s fine. Last I saw him, he was scooting under a bed.”
Phoebe almost collapsed with relief.
“What’s going on?” Daniel asked, keeping Phoebe snug against his side.
“We’re not sure yet. Got a call from a neighbor. Said she saw someone sneaking around, looking suspicious. We just did a walk-through. There’s no one here now. Ma’am, do you suppose you could come in, take a look for us and tell us if anything’s missing?”
“There won’t be anything missing,” Daniel said in a hard voice. “The son of a bitch just wanted to scare her.”
The officer lifted an eyebrow. “You know who did this?”
“Oh, yeah.” Daniel’s voice was as tight as the lines bracketing his mouth. “His name is Jason Collins and she wants to file a restraining order against him.”
It was over an hour and a half later that the police finally left—without the restraining order. Hugging Arthur to her breast, Phoebe closed the door behind them then leaned her forehead against it.
“Do you think they’ll turn up anything?” she asked, looking and sounding exhausted.
“Honestly? No. He covered his tracks on that count. There weren’t any prints. And you won’t find anything missing. He did his damage by letting you know he could get to you anytime he wanted to.”
Daniel stood with his tie undone, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn’t trust himself to touch her right now. He had so much rage inside him for Collins and so much frustration over the limitations of the law that he was afraid some of it would spill over and he would bruise her by simply holding her.
He understood why she couldn’t file a restraining order against Collins. There was no proof that it was he who had broken in. Add that to the fact that Phoebe hadn’t filed police reports the other times he’d harassed her or the time he’d hit her, and there was no legal basis for the order.
So yeah, intellectually, he understood. It didn’t, however, do much to assuage his anger.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re staying at my place tonight.”
She looked up, seemed to consider complying, then something came over her that he’d never seen before. Anger. Defiance. And she slowly shook her head.
“No,” she said, a determination made strong by conviction. “I’m done. I’m not letting him call the shots for me anymore. He’s not going to run me out of my own home. I’m not going to let him do it.”
Daniel looked at the face that so fascinated him. Her lush lips were unyielding. Though the smudges of violet beneath her eyes showed her fatigue and her stress, her eyes were clear and dry. Her shoulders were back, her head erect.
Before his eyes, his little owl transformed into an eagle. He felt more than pride at her warrior stance. He was so turned on by it, it hurt to draw breath.
“Then I’ll sleep on your sofa,” he said, battling to keep a rein on his libido, “because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you stay here alone.”
All business, he tossed his tuxedo jacket aside, sat down on the couch and toed off his shoes. “If you’ve got an extra blanket, I’m good to go.” He’d just removed his socks when her continued silence brought his head up.
He narrowed his eyes as she set Arthur on a side chair then advanced toward him, one steady step at a time. “You are not sleeping on the sofa. But you are sleeping here. With me.”
There was no mistaking her intentions. The huskiness of her voice and the invitation in her eyes made it very clear. He forced himself to stand, gathered himself to be the voice of reason.
But then she moved directly in front of him, filling his field of vision with amber eyes flecked in gold. Filling his senses with an awareness of her woman’s scent, of every breath she drew, of the pale skin visible above the scooped neckline of her dress. Of the gentle round of her breasts that pressed against the black crepe.
He swallowed, shook his head and strove for restraint while his heart damn near hammered out of his chest at the thought of her naked and warm and willing beneath him.
“No.” The word came out on a strangled croak. “This can’t happen.”
It shouldn’t happen. And he was the one who needed to make sure it didn’t.
“Look, Phoebe, you’re running on adrenaline. It’s doing your talking and your thinking at the moment.”
She moved so close that the warmth of her breath fluttered against his jaw, so close that the giving softness of her breasts pressed against his chest and made him groan.
“My adrenaline’s talking, huh?”
He swallowed thickly. He nodded, when the power of speech took a hike to Brazil—where he ought to be.
“Tell me,” she whispered, placing her hands on his chest, fingers splayed wide. The heat of her palms burned through his shirt. “What, exactly, is it saying?”
“Phoebe.” Rock hard and trying his damnedest to resist her, he shackled her wrists with his hands. “Don’t—”
“Shh,” she whispered against his throat then slid her nose in a sensual caress along his jaw. The butterfly kiss of her lashes fluttered against the corner of his mouth. “Listen. Listen to what it’s saying.”
Oh, he was listening. He couldn’t hear, of course. The teaspoon of blood that wasn’t pooled in his groin had shot to his ears where it pounded like a battalion of kettledrums. He didn’t have to hear what she said, though, to get her message loud and clear. She wanted what he wanted. And he wanted it bad.
He’d never considered himself a weak man. But with her pressed up against him that way, her lips parted, her warm breath feathering his jaw, he felt about as strong as Samson after Delilah had gone crazy with her shears.
So much for steely resolve. He didn’t even bother to fake another argument.
“Tell me you’re not going to regret this,” he demanded, releasing her wrists and wrapping her in his arms.
“Just a sec.” The little tease had the nerve to gloat over her victory. “I’ll need to consult with my adrenaline.”
Sliding her hands up his chest then along his throat, she cupped his jaw and brought his mouth to within a breath of hers. “Good news. Me and my glands are up for it.”
He exhaled on a serrated breath. “Glad to hear someone’s glands are in good working order.”
She smiled then. And so did he.
“You are turning me inside out here,” he growled against her mouth.
“I don’t want you inside out.” One slim, questing hand journeyed down his chest, past his belt and lower, to cup and caress the length of the ridged flesh pressing against his zipper. “I just want you inside. Of me.”
“Well,” he muttered, scooping her up in his arms. “Now you’re in trouble.”
She linked her arms behind his neck and ran the tip of her tongue along the outer edge of his ear. “About time.”
“Keep it up—just keep it up and this is not going to happen with the benefit of a bed.”
Tiny teeth latched on to his earlobe, tugged. “And that’s bad because?”
“That’s bad,” he managed to say on an involuntary shudder, “because once I get you naked, I’m going to keep you that way for a very long time. And you’re going to want a mattress, not a wall against your back.”
The implication of that threat finally stopped her busy mouth and wandering hands.
“Oh,” she said, a sudden bout of uncertainty arresting her.
“Yeah. Oh.”
It was too late for second thoughts. He was so hot for her, nothing short of an unqualified “I changed my mind” was going to stop him now.
He’d never seen her bedroom before. He didn’t see much of it now. All he saw was her. All he wanted was her. It seemed as if he’d wanted her forever.
He set her on her feet by the bed and reached for the switch on the bedside lamp.
“You, um, want the light on?”
“I want the light on.” Easing down on the edge of the bed, he took her hand, recognizing that she was suddenly feeling shy again. He tugged until she
stood between his splayed legs. “I want to see you. I’ve been going crazy wanting to see you.”
“Even when you tried to pass me off to Ash?”
He slid his hands in a slow, exploring caress from her hips past her waist and then up the length of her back. His fingers found the zipper tab and tugged it slowly down. “Especially when I tried to pass you off to Ash. I wanted to drop-kick him across the room when he kissed you.”
The zipper slid almost soundlessly past the small of her back then stopped where the sweet cheeks of her bottom met. He pressed his face against her stomach, felt her heat through the black crepe, felt the slight tremble of her muscles against his lips. He lifted his hands to her shoulders.
“What…what if you’re disappointed in…what you see?”
He tipped his head back, looked up at her. “Do you have a long furry tail?”
One corner of her mouth tipped up. “No.”
“Do you have fish scales on your bottom?”
A generous smile this time. “Not the last time I looked.”
“Then I won’t be disappointed.”
Another beautifully sensual shiver eddied through her body as he hooked his fingers over the neckline of her dress and pulled it slowly down.
Soft crepe rustled against satin skin and pooled on the floor at her feet. A softer sigh soughed through her parted lips. He looked up, past the generous swell of her breasts that practically spilled over the top of black lace cups. She closed her eyes when his blunt-tipped fingers found the clasp between them, flicked it open.
Her breasts sprang free. Warm, giving, much fuller than he’d imagined, heavy with arousal. Her nipples puckered into tight little beads as he cupped her, lifted, then scraped the edge of his thumbnails across dusty-pink areolas that were so delicate and so utterly female he could have wept.
“Beautiful.”
Another shiver. Another breathy sigh.
And he was lost.
He tumbled her to her back on the bed and propped up on an elbow, to look and touch his fill.
“So pretty,” he whispered and lowered his head to taste one pale, quivering mound. He flicked his tongue over the crown of her nipple. She arched up to meet him, whimpered when he withdrew, making him smile into her slumberous eyes as he went back for more. Taking more this time than a glancing thrust of his tongue, he cupped her breast with his hand, drew her inside his mouth and feasted.